


Click-Click

by alyjude_sideburns



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Drama, M/M, POV Outsider, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-21
Updated: 2014-01-21
Packaged: 2018-01-09 04:14:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1141292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alyjude_sideburns/pseuds/alyjude_sideburns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Told by a reporter; the rescue of a child who has fallen into a disused mine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Click-Click

 

**Click-Click by Alyjude**

 

My mother used to tell me, "John, miracles happen every day, you just have to see them." But I never did.

I've been a reporter for over twenty-five years, covering the 'hard' news. Crime, war, corruption and, of course, politics. And what I've seen in my life has done nothing to prove my mother right.

I've been in countries where a war was started because they wanted to move a border two feet and hundreds died. I've covered child abuse stories that would curdle your blood. I once interviewed an eleven-year-old boy who'd shot his three-year-old sister, "Because." And I interviewed a fifteen-year-old, straight-A student who knifed his grandmother because, "She moved my stuff."

After a quarter of a century, I finally gave up the limelight, climbed out of the muck and took a job with the Cascade Herald, in Cascade, Washington. But who knew Cascade could be so dangerous? And yet, she always seemed to step back from the edge... to survive terrorists, mad bombers, drug cartels, kidnappers and serial killers. Almost as if she had a guardian angel.

But I never saw a miracle. Until yesterday. Thursday, June 24th, 1999.

Was it a grand miracle? Or a series of small interrelated miracles? I don't know and I don't care. My life was changed, forever altered. The way I _look_ at life has been forever changed. Guess miracles can do that to you.

I remember a few years back, getting my eyes checked. You know what I mean, you sit in that chair, an eye apparatus in front of your face, and the technician goes click-click and a lens drops down in front of your eyes. If the tech isn't so good, you go through several click-clicks, as your vision gets better but never quite there. If the tech is good, you get one click-click and you can see. Crystal clear on one click-click. That's what happened to me yesterday. Click-click. Fuzzy - Clear. The world turned on its axis and my paradigms were blasted into smithereens.

Was this miracle seen by the many? Or just me?

Most of it was witnessed by millions of television viewers, glued to their sets as only a potential tragedy can glue us.

Some of it was witnessed by a lucky handful.

And one part was mine alone. Click-click.

How did this miracle start? With a serial killer. A man who had kidnapped three children in three different cities. He took them from their homes in broad daylight. He took them, tortured them and raped them. Then he killed them.

The first was in Spokane, the second in Seattle, the third in Port Angeles. And yesterday, he took his fourth, here in Cascade. A six-year-old named Genna Carstairs. The case was turned over to Major Crimes and Captain Simon Banks turned it over to his best team, Detective James Ellison and Detective Blair Sandburg.

The media was kept out of the loop until the story took a strange turn, right into the Twilight Zone.

Ellison, a ten-year veteran and his partner, a rookie detective, had put together a series of seemingly unrelated clues that led them to a house in the Lennox district owned by a Michael Evans. Upon their arrival, they found the house empty, but something must have alerted them, as the two men headed off into the woods.

_"There are no heartbeats inside, Chief."_

_"Scan the surrounding woods."_

_"Got 'em. She's got away from him. She's running. Maybe... twenty, thirty yards from here, and he's not far behind her. Chief, you cut east, intercept her, I'll go after Evans."_

Somehow, Genna had managed to get away from her captor but, in running from him, she ran onto an old oil field, abandoned years ago, when it was discovered that tunnels from an ancient mine ran beneath the field.

There had been heavy rain two days before and the earth was soft.

A terrified girl, soft, rain-soaked earth, unstable ground, and she was gone.

Evidently Detective Sandburg had reached the clearing just in time to see little Genna disappear as the earth swallowed her.

*****

At some point, Detective Ellison must have realized that something was wrong...

*****

The detective found his partner and they managed to get a glimpse of Genna and could determine that she was alive.

_"Jim, can you see her? Is she alive?"_

_"Yeah, and I've got a heartbeat. She's down about fifty feet and wedged in tight, Looks like she landed on some ledge. We'll need --"_ He didn't need to finish; Sandburg was already punching in the numbers on his cell phone.

Within an hour, the field was full.

The Fire Department, Police, Civil Engineers, Cyclops Oil engineers, construction crews, spectators, the Carstairs and the press. And me, John Upton, ex star reporter for CNN, now star reporter for The Cascade Herald.

We the press arrived en masse, ready to film this story, happy ending or not. Tragedy was news.

Cameras were whirling and clicking, microphones were shoved into any and every face, hoping for _the_ byte that would lead off a news report/headline/cover... and there, ever present, in the thick of things, Detectives Ellison and Sandburg, who had been joined by other Major Crimes detectives.

Captain Simon Banks was easily recognizable to the media and it didn't take long to identify the others -- Detective Joel Taggert, Detective Henri Brown, Detective Brian Rafe and the Australian exchange officer, Inspector Megan Connor.

My fellow reporters amazed me. They could so easily have converged on the Major Crime detectives, and Detective Sandburg who, just a few weeks earlier, along with his partner, were the center of a frenzied media circus. But the reporters stayed focused on the immediate story: The incredible rescue efforts for Genna Carstairs. And the fact that the serial killer had been caught by Detectives Ellison and Sandburg was not lost on my compatriots.

*****

Darkness had fallen and it was six hours into the rescue effort. Fear and worry was now evident on everyone's faces, and Genna still could not be seen. Yet the rescue workers seemed to take their cue from Ellison and Sandburg who were certain that she was still alive.

_"Jim?"_

_"Yeah, I can still hear her. She's whimpering and calling for her... mother."_

But it had been six hours. It was cold. How long could she last and how hurt was she? These were the questions we asked. No one had the answers.

Mr. and Mrs. Carstairs and their two other children, a twelve-year-old son and a nine-year-old daughter, began to look truly frightened for the first time that night.

And then the earth moved.

The rescue team had been drilling down, a few feet east of where Genna was evidently trapped, the idea being to widen the hole enough to get a man down to the little girl. But the drilling had loosened the earth and the shift of ground had coughed up rocks and boulders. The drill hit one of the boulders, breaking the drill and shoving the boulder into the space they had just cleared, narrowing the hole again and setting back the rescue efforts by hours, if not destroying them altogether.

There must have been over a hundred people at or around the rescue area, with noise at crescendo levels, but as the machines shut down and word spread, the field fell completely silent. All work ceased, and men stood, wiping their faces and brushing at their pants. The rescue lights, combined with the media lighting, illuminated the face of every worker, every fireman, every cop.

Mrs. Carstairs fainted and her daughter began to sob quietly.

I noticed Detectives Ellison and Sandburg walk to the very edge of the hole and Sandburg began to speak quietly but urgently to his partner, who kept nodding his head.

_"Jim, is it clear below the blockage?"_

_"Yeah, Chief, if we can find a way to remove the dirt, suck it out somehow, we might have a wide enough channel to get someone down."_

_"I've got an idea. How much time do you think we have?"_

_"She's weak, Blair, very weak. Maybe an hour, hour and a half."_

I watched as Sandburg hurried over to the man in charge of the rescue, Captain Tom Harris. He talked quickly, face animated, hands gesturing, pointing, waving. I saw Harris' expression change, from disgust, to disinterest, to listening intently, to nodding excitedly. Then he began to bark orders.

And the whole place exploded in sound and movement.

We quickly surrounded Phil Morales, Captain Harris' aide and press liaison and the questions flew fast and furious but finally subsided as Morales remained silent. Once he had our attention, he explained the next step.

It was believed that they could still get down to Genna, that she was safe, perhaps in a pocket, and they just needed to clear the new dirt. We were told that they were sending for an apparatus that would suck up the loose dirt from the now-clogged channel. The machine was being flown in from a Cyclops Oil rig and should be up and running within the hour.

It was the longest hour the world had experienced.

But no one left their television sets. America and the rest of the world sat transfixed, collective breaths held in hope and desperation.

There have been many such rescue efforts, but none captured the world's attention as this did. A feisty little girl gets away from her abductor only to fall prey to chance and Mother Nature.

But the collective instinct said that 'our' little Genna, and she _was_ ours, was now out of time.

*****

Seven and half hours into the rescue, the great Cyclops machine went quiet. They had removed as much dirt as possible and all eyes fixed on the hole, on the small space they'd created. They could now see the huge boulder, jutting out into the hole. And hope died. The space was too small; too small for any of the workers. But there was one man, on his knees, at the edge of the hole. And I was close enough to hear his words, to hear him tell the others that he could make it.

They must have agreed because a few minutes later, Detective Blair Sandburg was being outfitted in a harness, hooked up and then lowered.

Additional klieg lights had been set up, and were focused on the hole so all could see as the Detective's head disappeared from view.

Overhead, helicopters circled, some with zoom videocams. The world could see what we could not, the harness, the hole and Genna's last hope. He was still in view for the world; all we saw was the slowly lowering cable.

And the irony of the situation was not lost on the media or the gathered officials.

The man who, weeks ago, declared himself and his work a fraud, the man who was half of the team that captured Genna's kidnapper, was the man going down after Genna.

Detective Sandburg had been fitted with a mic and his voice could be heard, giving instructions and updates, and finally... that he could see her, that she had moved, that Genna Carstairs was alive.

The cheer that went up was deafening.

Detective Sandburg's voice was heard again, informing the crew that he had her in his arms, to start bringing them up. The winch was reversed and began to turn, but after three minutes, Sandburg's voice stopped them.

We saw the winch halt and whispers flew. "What's wrong?" and, "Why did they stop?" and Sandburg's voice telling them that there wasn't enough room for both of them. He couldn't squeeze past the boulder, not with Genna in his arms. His quiet, calm voice explained what he was going to do. He would brace himself against the boulder, legs against the opposite wall, then remove the harness, hook up Genna and they could pull her up, then send it back to him.

The harness transfer took place and once again the winch moved.

Eight and half hours after Genna had first disappeared into the hole, she was brought up.

Her parents were there, but it was Detective Ellison who grabbed the cable, swung it in and captured the little girl into his arms. The harness was gently removed and she was delivered into her father's waiting embrace.

The EMTs took over then, as Genna was lowered to a waiting gurney. Attention slowly shifted from the hole to the EMTs. A subtle move of bodies away from the cable and over to the paramedics ensued, with reporters, cameras, and microphones now all trained on the gurney. They forgot for the moment that a young man remained in the hole, a young man with limbs spasming from the strain of keeping himself braced, with sweat trickling down his face and whose breathing was coming in raspy gasps, from the exertion of holding his body rigid.

Around the hole stood a handful of firemen, the detectives from Major Crime, a few of the men from Cyclops Oil and a few officers. They waited for the harness to begin its journey back down.

I chose to wait with the Major Crime Detectives. I still don't know why.

The gurney was loaded into an ambulance and the caravan of officials, press, the family and workers, pulled away and sped off to the hospital.

Then Mother Nature decided to deliver her final blow.

The earth shuddered and shifted yet again, as if in its final death throes. Those hooked up to the mic heard only a faint gasp, than nothing. The thundering earth swallowed up all other sounds except one -- the gut wrenching yell of Detective Ellison as he screamed, "NO!"

The earth finally stilled, the dust settled and no one moved. No one spoke.

But word must have spread because, in minutes, the press returned, the happy ending suddenly tainted.

Camera crews and work crews began again.

But after less than an hour, hope was lost. For every few feet of dirt they cleared, more dirt took its place.

The hole was destroyed. Detective Sandburg was gone.

*****

I'd watched Detective Ellison during that final hour, watched him shake off his captain, get down on his hands and knees and relentlessly dig, and I watched as soon others joined him.

I watched hope work tirelessly and I watched hope die and I watched the machines being turned off.

But Detective Ellison continued to dig and finally Captain Banks knelt down next to him and talked quietly, his words lost to us.

_"Jim, the machines are off, can you hear him?"_

I watched as Detective Ellison stopped digging, stood, cocked his head, and appeared to be listening intently, trying to hear something he could never hear.

And then I watched him fold as his arms clasped his stomach and his head dropped to his chest.

Detective Taggert was still kneeling in the dirt, tears streaking his face, his hand grasping at the earth as if it were a hand he could pull up. Inspector Connor was weeping in the arms of Detective Rafe and Detective Brown had his arms around both and was crying outright.

I couldn't move. I was transfixed by their grief, their loss. I realized I was crying as well, that it was _my_ loss too.

Klieg lights were extinguished, equipment packed up and crews started to move out. Famous anchormen with million dollar smiles stood before the self-made gravesite and tried to express the horror, the grief... and failed. Finally, they too gave up.

But I couldn't leave. It felt too much like abandonment. I couldn't leave that young man, dead, alone and in the dark, so I stayed. As did a few others and soon I was joined by two of the highest paid anchors in television, eyes suspiciously moist.

I glanced over at Detective Ellison and watched as his head jerked up, his body froze... and then he was up and running.

We followed. All of us.

Ellison ran across the field, through the trees and kept yelling one word, over and over -- "SANDBURG!"

His run took us all to the old Lennox mine.

And the miracle stood there, holding himself up against the granite walls of the opening, covered in dirt and mud, hair loose, matted with blood and sweat and more mud.

Someone yelled for medical attention and cell phones were whipped out.

How he survived was a mystery for now, and no one cared, he was there, he was alive.

*****

Blair heard the low rumbling and knew it wasn't the winch. The huge boulder he was braced against gave a lurch, the walls around him seemed to shimmer and dirt began to rain down on him. The wall opposite gave way and Blair was free-falling. He had time to give one gasp before the air was sucked from his lungs. He was tumbling, knew he was lost, worried for Jim, then his body hit something hard and he was barely aware that he'd landed on the same ledge that had held Genna for all those hours.

Then the ledge bucked and he felt his body tossed up, then sideways.

The hole was collapsing in on itself, but this had opened another shaft and Blair was tossed into it. This shaft ran east to west for a few feet then dropped down into a tunnel below.

Blair's body tumbled over and over through the vent, then he was weightless again as he plummeted down, to finally land hard, but cushioned by a mound of dirt.

He lay a few moments, dirt cascading down. Common sense said, 'move or be buried', so he rolled off the mound.

For awhile he gave into the sensation of floating, but eventually knew he needed to move. He did a quick inventory of himself, found the cuts and abrasions he expected, found bruised ribs, sore muscles and a scalp wound that was still bleeding, but not serious.

It was time to find his way out.

*****

The Major Crimes contingent immediately formed a protective circle around the two men, but in all truth, it wasn't necessary. The media didn't move in, we were too dazed. Professional reporters, with over seventy-five years in the business between us all, and we were dumbfounded.

Then comprehension dawned. I _felt_ it move through the small crowd. Heads lifted and eyes widened as the truth penetrated our exhausted minds.

Detective Ellison had _heard_ his partner. And had known exactly where to go.

Detective James Ellison _was_ a Sentinel.

_Our_ Sentinel.

The enormity of the truth and the purity of Sandburg's sacrifice hit us all. But it brought a peace, not confusion.

I glanced at my companions, eyes holding, acknowledging and coming to a silent, tacit agreement. We would keep this secret, revere it, revel in it, but protect it with our lives if needed.

The Sentinel existed. He was our guardian. And the Sentinel had _his_ protector, Detective Sandburg, and they had _their_ protectors -- Major Crimes and us.

*****

The paramedics finally arrived, cleaned and bandaged the young man and tried to talk him into going to the hospital, worry about concussions and internal bleeding their paramount concern. No one was surprised when he said no, or when Detective Ellison agreed.

Slowly the small crowd dispersed. People began the walk back to the field, to cars, trucks, vans, for cleanup, to disassemble equipment, to pack up and go home. To go home and hug loved ones, to rejoice, to offer up all manner of thanks, and finally to bask in the secret knowledge of an astounding and comforting truth.

I lagged behind, not willing to break the fragile link to Detectives Ellison and Sandburg, wanting to remain in their circle, remain in what I believed to have been the final miracle.

The other members of Major Crime began to peel off, realizing the need to leave the two men alone and I wondered about that, so I slowed my pace even more and, as I reached the fringe of trees, I stopped and waited.

Sandburg had been sitting on a log and now Ellison helped him up. For a few seconds they stood, facing each other, only inches apart. I felt my breath catch as Detective Ellison put one arm around his partner's waist, gazed in rapt attention as his other hand came up and gently brushed the younger man's cheek and used his fingers to softly wipe away some dirt. Then he ran his thumb slowly across Sandburg's lower lip. And I knew what would come next.

My life judgements, my values, all the teachings I knew, should have had me shocked. Disgusted, I should have turned away, uncomfortable at the very least. Instead, I experienced a joy, a deep sense of 'rightness', and there was the 'click-click' of my life changing, my perceptions, my values, my beliefs, turning on a moment -- the moment I watched Jim Ellison touch his lips to Blair Sandburg's.

I watched as the kiss deepened, as arms lovingly wrapped around each body and I took delight in two _men_ expressing such love. I couldn't help but ask the gods above how this could be wrong and I found the answer within myself. It wasn't.

I don't know which of the miracles I witnessed was the greater. You decide. I only know that I was profoundly changed.

My mother was right. Miracles _do_ happen every day. And you don't need Sentinel sight to see them, just an open heart.

The End

John Upton  
June 25, 1999

*****

Upton got up from his desk, took the handwritten sheets and walked over to his fireplace. He looked into the flames, then at the papers in his hand, and then tossed them into the blaze.

For several minutes the reporter stood there, smiling, as he watched the greatest story of his career go up in flames.

He was content.

 

The End

 

  
**Disclaimer:** All characters from **The Sentinel** are the property of Pet Fly Productions, Danny Bilson and Paul DeMeo. Characters from any other television show, movie or book are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. We believe the works contained in this archive to be transformative in nature and therefore protected under the 'fair use' provisions of copyright law.

This story archived at <http://asr3.slashzone.org/archive/viewstory.php?sid=1210>


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